“Our economic system and our planetary system are now at war. Or, more accurately, our economy is at war with many forms of life on earth, including human life. What the climate needs to avoid collapse is a contraction in humanity’s use of resources; what our economic model demands to avoid collapse is unfettered expansion. Only one of these sets of rules can be changed, and it’s not the laws of nature.” — Naomi Klein

I whine with the nail technician about the smell—
putrid methyl methacrylate and acetone, 
like the embalming of a body on its way to rotting—
and wish I’d brought my medical mask;
stored in a drawer because the pandemic is said
to be over – the one that made us think about breathing.

I clear the reproach from my throat;
girrrl, this job is gonna give you lung cancer;
huck it out into a polite smile, and a question 
about her kids; say under my breath instead
that we all have to make a living /
we’re all gonna become indisposed from it.

Sky blue, the colour of my nails, for old time’s sake
and for something to feel beyond myself when 
back to the grind where the air is controlled
by a remote / remote heads and chairs / remoteness 
as the new world order. Only boardroom blues here. 
Only stifling, stiff, vaped air here. 

Eyes trained to the dead blue of a screen forget
what looking up allows. The dream 
of an ozone oz dirtied by greenhouse gases 
and dismantled by billionaire space colonizers
in their big-dick space crafts — unreachable 
stars grazed and quashed by a gaggle of satellites — 
the ones that confuse the flight of bugs and birds.

I spit the roach from my throat;
girrrl, even stars have been bulldozed by the male gaze;
and they think we’re distracted when we put on pretty
nails, blue like our feelings and the sky we know 
is not clear, or clean, the one being 
profusely penetrated and parasitized
by profitmongers with space-transmitted infections 
–know what I mean? 

Women know how it feels. 
Why else do they call Earth Mother? 
So that men can do with her as they please, 
knowing she will love them to death anyway.

About the Author:

Tayla Paige is an emerging nature/eco-poet from South Africa; having spent 30 years collecting images and building wor(l)ds in her mind, she is finally trying to be more official about it all. Born in a small coal-mining town, Tayla spread out to the big city to study English and media at the University of Cape Town. So far, Tayla has been published in Stanzas Poetry Magazine, the AVBOB Poetry website, and Low Altitude Mag. You can find her on Instagram at @teepeevonsay

Feature image by Dan Cristian Pădureț on Unsplash